


Call Me, Baby

by Elleh



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Hand Jobs, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Masturbation, Phonecall Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 15:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13216557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleh/pseuds/Elleh
Summary: Iwaizumi has too many pictures of Oikawa, he realises after three long minutes of scrolling through all his files. How the fuck has this happened? Less than a quarter are actual selfies, and only half of those are Oikawa’ solos. Shit, he has it bad, doesn’t he? He even has a full session of that day Oikawa cooked him his favourite curry, and by the camera’s angle, all the pictures were taken in secret.Oikawa’s not even looking at the camera in neither of them.





	Call Me, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Phonecall/Masturbation prompt from Kinktober 2017! I've realised I have like a lot of these only posted on the blog, so. Here we go. Pinning Iwaizumi is one of my favourites things in the world.

 

Iwaizumi is a man of simple routines. He hadn’t needed much, when he was younger. In days like today, he’d come home, shove his shoes away and lie on the sofa until it got dark enough to move his tired body to the bed.

But now the darkness seems a bit too choking, as if some dark lord has taken away every bright surface reachable, leaving his house all gloomy and lonely. Iwaizumi takes off his shoes on the entrance, his eyes never leaving the three other pairs Oikawa always has  lining up, as if he were gonna need them even when he’s on a game far away from home.

Shit. It’s only been two days. This shouldn’t be this bad when they’ve been apart for only _two_ days.

Iwaizumi gives up on the sofa. Instead, he makes himself a tea and goes directly to bed, fuck showers. He’s on the mood to crawl on the blanket and pretend Tooru’s pillow is the real thing, instead of a poorly made placebo.

Pathetic.

The room is less depressing than the rest of the flat, only because Iwaizumi had insisted on painting it a soft yellow instead of the hospital-like white of the rest of the house. He takes off his pants and shirt, and with his underwear still on, flips over the bed, bouncing twice.

It’s almost as if he were a child again, the movement making his stomach flip and flop in a sweet, funny way.

It goes away too fast.

Bored and sad, Iwaizumi grabs his phone and checks his work email. Nothing, nothing, done, done, _done_. Oh, gods, he’s actually ahead of schedule. With a grunt, Iwaizumi closes the app, tries all his social ones with futile results and sighs so loud the bed shivers.

It’s Oikawa’s absence fault. Maybe it’s just Oikawa’s fault. He had made Iwaizumi addicted to his presence, and now that the dickhead’s not around, Iwaizumi’s going through withdrawal syndrome.

He’s tempted of searching on google: _how to get over boyfriend’s withdrawal syndrome_ , but it sounds stupid and childish, and Iwaizumi’s thumb clicks his photo app instead. Why not? Lingering on his own pain with Oikawa’s pretty face is really not that bad.

Iwaizumi has _too_ many pictures of Oikawa, he realises after three long minutes of scrolling through all his files. How the fuck has this happened? Less than a quarter are actual selfies, and only half of those are Oikawa solos. Shit, he has it bad, doesn’t he? He even has a full session of that day Oikawa cooked him his favourite curry, and by the camera’s angle, all the pictures were taken in _secret_.

Oikawa’s not even looking at the camera in neither of them.

How shameful. Iwaizumi, eyes wide open with realisation, tells himself to never, _ever_ let Oikawa have a hold of his phone. It’s bad enough he’s this obsessed with his boyfriend, but if said boyfriend finds out, Iwaizumi will be _done_.

Iwaizumi’s about to close the app and go take a shower before going to bed,— _really_ going to bed,— when one of the pictures catches his attention. Iwaizumi frowns at his phone. He has no recall of this, and by its date he shouldn’t have been able to take any sort of picture whatsoever.

The moan he lets out when his finger taps the picture open can be heard three floors below. Of course Iwaizumi doesn’t remember taking this picture, because he didn’t. Oikawa, with his selfies master ability, has taken one of the filthiest pictures Iwaizumi remembers ever seeing from him.

And that’s a lot, considering they were both in different campuses when they started dating, and Oikawa was a horny mess everything except subtle.

Oikawa’s legs are spread, his dick in his hand. He must have been stroking himself for quite a while already, for he’s hard and slicky, the tip so red Iwaizumi can almost feel its heat on his lips. Iwaizumi knows the expression that’s decorating Oikawa’s face as well. He’s some strokes from coming, and Iwaizumi feels a wave of warmth travel from his tight throat to his crotch, that startles in answer.

Well.

Iwaizumi’s feeling lonely, and Oikawa is a little lynx who had a fucking pornographic session with Iwaizumi’s phone _without_ Iwaizumi’s knowledge. He had it coming, didn’t he.

It feels as if he’s mimicking the Oikawa from the picture, his right hand holding the phone close to his face, his left hand traveling fast through his chest under his underwear and reaching its goal with what feels like a sigh.

Iwaizumi hisses at the touch of his cold fingers, but keeps his hand where it is. He starts jerking himself slowly, taking his now awaken dick to a half hard on with mere strokes. His right thumb passes the picture, a new Oikawa with a leg spread up and his hand around his balls and his asshole comes in sight. Iwaizumi grunts, and as if his fingers were Oikawa’s known hole, he starts to play with the tip of his dick. He presses his finger on his slit and pretends is Oikawa’s tongue; he caresses the head of his cock, his shaft. Iwaizumi can’t take his gaze away from Oikawa’s open mouth, open legs, open ass, but the imaginary and the picture don’t mix well.

He slides to the next one. Oikawa’s on his four, the phone out of his reach. He’s fingering himself, his dick right there beside his forearm. Gods, Iwaizumi’s fantasy’s filled with Oikawa moaning his name, _Iwa–chan, Iwa–chan,_ while his fingers pretend it’s Iwaizumi’s cock what’s filling him, ravishing him, crashing against his ass as if the answers to all questions could be found just on its deepest end.

Iwaizumi’s hand has found a good pace, up and down, up and down. He’s starting to pant, his chest moving as fast as his hand is doing. He stops and plays with the tip, wetting his fingers, and then back again. It’s fucking annoying not being able to do himself with both hands, but Oikawa looks so good on Iwaizumi’s screen it doesn’t really matter anymore.

His finger’s already on the phone, about to pass into the next picture, when his ringtone comes off.

The sudden sound startles him so bad he lets go of the phone, that falls flat on his face. Iwaizumi grunts, hurt, his left hand now still on his shaft. Shit, the built up orgasm burns his belly at the halt of his hand, and while cursing whoever had dared to call him now of all times, Iwaizumi picks up the phone from his face.

Oikawa’s name lights up the screen. Iwaizumi’s hand tightens around his cook.

He picks up.

“Hello, beautiful boyfriend,” Oikawa’s cheery voice fills Iwaizumi’s ear.

Gods, he misses the stupid idiot so bad. Iwaizumi’s unable to stop his hand, when it starts to stroke his dick with slow, painful ups and downs.

“Are you alone?” Iwaizumi manages to ask harshly after a long, breathless pause.

Oikawa gasps, surprised. Iwaizumi can already see his frown when Oikawa answers: “Yeah, I’m in my room.”

“Good,” Iwaizumi lets himself groan loudly, then, his hand moving faster and faster.

“Iwa–chan,” Oikawa’s voice is filled with amazement. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi orders on instinct, instantly regretting it. “No, wait, don’t shut up. Keep talking.”

“Oh my,” Iwaizumi hears him shift on the other side of the phone. “Do you want me to talk dirty to you, Iwa–chan?”

“Fuck, I don’t care,” he grunts. “Just keep talking.”

“Ah,” Oikawa’s voice gets hoarse, the right deepness, the right tremble. Shit, Oikawa knows him too well. “My Iwa–chan gets all hot and wet when he hears me talk?”

“Mmmh—” Iwaizumi wants to watch Oikawa’s pictures, but Oikawa’s voice is sweet and tempting and so _close_. He has to close his eyes when his hand starts moving again in a pace nothing short to heaven. “Tooru— Ah, fuck, I wish you were here.”

“Me too, Iwa–chan,” Fuck the phone. Iwaizumi lets his cheek and ear hold it in place, so both hands are free to roam when Oikawa continues. “I’d let you fuck me so hard right now, you know that?” Iwaizumi’s right hand finds his balls, and he starts touching them, cupping them while his other hand strokes faster, and faster, and wetter, _and harder_. “I came back from training and I was alone on my room and I was so horny, Iwa–chan. I kept thinking of what you do with your mouth to my ass,” Oikawa makes a licking sound, and Iwaizumi can’t breathe for a second. “And what you do with your dick. _Aaahhh_ , Iwa–chan,” Oikawa whines loudly and long, making Iwaizumi arch on his bed, his hips bucking against his hand as if it were Oikawa’s ass. “I’d ride you right now, are you feeling it?”

“ _Fuck_ , yes.”

“Your dick’d be so deep,” Oikawa pants as if Iwaizumi were indeed fucking him senseless. “Ah, so fucking deep, Iwa–chan. I’m already so wet, I could easily take you with a single…”

Iwaizumi isn’t listening anymore, his mind blank by the imminent orgasm. His stomach is hot and warm, his hand moving so fast his hips can barely keep the pace. Shit, Oikawa’s still talking, but the words are not important anymore. The cadence of his voice is, the short breaths, the tremble on his tone as if he were as ready as Iwaizumi is.

“Iwa–chan,” Oikawa makes a wet sound, catching Iwaizumi’s attention back at him. “I know you found the pictures,” on the other side, Iwaizumi hears Oikawa starting to jerk himself, the sound of his lubricated hand moving fast enough to make any man come at the mere sound of it. Iwaizumi tries to bite his tongue to delay his orgasm a bit longer. “There’s a video too,” Oikawa confesses breathlessly, and Iwaizumi hangs up.

How does he manage to unlock the phone and find the video is beyond himself. But before it can register, Iwaizumi’s watching Oikawa on his four, calling Iwaizumi’s pet name as if his life depended on it, his fingers coming in and out of his ass while his other hand strokes his dick with nothing short of a show.

Iwaizumi doesn’t need much more. He strokes his throbbing cock with such urge is shameful, and he hears himself yelling Oikawa’s name while his hand keep fucking himself. The stupid video is lewd and explicit and Iwaizumi will never be able to lend his phone to anyone ever again.

Oikawa’s echoed voice moans from the phone, and Iwaizumi is done. He comes on his chest with a groan, loud and hot and dirty, the white mess almost reaching his chin. He can’t control his hand, still stroking his cock until the last of his cum has left his tight balls and it’s now all over his skin.

Iwaizumi lays there, breathing heavily while the video goes on. A shudder goes through his over sensitive body when Oikawa comes in moans and cries on the video, and Iwaizumi’s mind, still clouded with pleasure, clicks in.

He lets his eyes roam the frozen image of Oikawa on his four, before he calls his probably mad boyfriend.

Oikawa picks up after the first ring, and Iwaizumi can hear himself panting through the line.

“Already done, Iwa–chan?” he doesn’t sound as enthusiastic as he did two minutes ago, and Iwaizumi’s guilt shows the best of him.

“Yes, and it was the best orgasm you’ve given me without actually being here,” Oikawa hums happily on the other side, and Iwaizumi lets his hand rest on his chest, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of his cum already drying out. “Let me give back the favour.”

Oikawa moans loudly. “ _Mmmh_ , Iwa–chan. Yes, fuck me through the phone.”

And Iwaizumi does exactly that.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://negare-boshi.tumblr.com)


End file.
